The Pull of Magic
by Epicurous
Summary: A second stab at my first HPFF: Wizarding Britain is reaching its breaking point. Three friends find themselves on different paths. The wolves are waking, set hierarchies are shifting and neither can live while the other survives.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not and am not trying to own any of the works or ideas of J.K. Rowling. She is the sole owner of that material.

AN: And so I begin again. I wrote this story originally two summers ago and unwillingly abandoned it as the school year came upon me. I debated starting from scratch but I felt that my first attempt was decent enough to simply rework. For those of you who were disappointed or frustrated with the previous story… this one will be better, if only because I have two more years of writing under my belt. Or of course you'll continue to be disappointed and I'll just be writing selfishly. Also, don't bother leaving comments like so-and-so would never do that in the books, this story isn't written by J.K. Rowling, sorry. That being said, if something happens in a chapter that you feel is just a huge jump from the character in a previous chapter feel free to let me know. I only ask for a bit of leeway because the characters will simply not always be true to canon. Thanks for reading everyone and enjoy.

Chapter 1

Harry sat quietly hidden in the corner, the light reflected off the dust floating through the air of the library. He stared at an old tome he had picked at random from the shelf behind him. His eyes, staring blankly at the text, fell from line to line, his hand reaching out periodically to turn a page. To the casual observer, it looked like he was reading. And he was trying to, but his mind could not focus.

It had been a week since Sirius had fallen through the veil. A week that Harry had hardly notice pass. "It's my fault," Harry thought. He turned another page, slowly tracing the lines with his eyes.

"I'm so sorry Sirius," he whispered as a tear fell to the page.

He watched the tear hit the page and slowly soak in, smearing a letter of the handwritten text. As Harry looked at the smudged letter, he noticed the sentence it blurred and started reading.

"_What must be understood about magic is that it has a level of control over the witch or wizard. This effect is generally only noticed by those with more magic in their blood or in their core. Thus, it is not uncommon for witches and wizards born from parents without magic to never realize or feel the pull their magic has over them. There are, of course, exceptions. Witches and wizards with large magical cores will begin to feel their magic pulling at their decisions and personalities particularly during their magical majority and physical puberty. This 'pulling' generally takes the form of witches and wizards declaring fealty or loyalty to a wizard of greater power. This is why wizarding history is driven by the most powerful wizards and witches of the time and rarely by those with lesser magical power. An interesting comparison to consider is the difference between muggle history and wizarding history. Muggle historians are often forced to consider whether it was events that led to a moment in history or if it was the person who drove it. This is hardly ever taken into consideration in wizarding history because individuals of power have such great influence over those weaker…"_

Harry reread the paragraph considering what he had just read. He flipped the pages till he arrived in the middle of another chapter.

"_Magic is sentient to a certain extent, but not enough to split itself by defining aspects of its nature with moral ambiguity. For example the 'darker' magics are considered evil due to their effect on the castor and the person affected. Apart from the sometimes detrimental aspects of darker magic, it - by nature of being more powerful - is exceedingly more difficult to control. The result is typically untalented warlocks throwing about massive amounts of uncontrolled magic that has been defined by the castor to cause destruction of some nature, or it results in extremely talented wizards and witches using some of the most powerful spells ever developed. Neither of these options were appealing to the Ministry of Magic and so in 1543 they established…"_

He sat there. He couldn't really think of a time he had ever felt his magic. Maybe the time with the dementors but so much had happened he couldn't remember specifics of how he had felt apart from fear. Maybe he could ask to Dumbledore if he could borrow his pensieve...

He flipped to the first page of his book, _Magics _by Arthur Sarcosta.

Harry tried to remember what shelf he had grabbed it from. He turned the pages to the end of the chapter he was reading.

"_There is no such thing as good and evil when it comes to magic. There is only power and the minds that wield it."_

His mind travelled back to his first year. "There is no good and evil, only power, and those to weak to seek it," he muttered to himself. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe the statement, not because it came from the Dark Lord but… well, to be honest, he didn't know why. Everything about the way he had been taught since he came to Hogwarts was the opposite. There were strictly defined lines of good and evil, and what was useful and what wasn't. They didn't explore philosophical aspects of magic in class. They were told to turn this into that or to take these ingredients and mix them into this. It wasn't difficulty. Just follow the instructions and you did well. It didn't surprise Harry at all that the Ministry restricted knowledge and labeled it as evil because they were nervous about people using it to cause problems. It would surprise him at all if the reason he hadn't heard of any of this before was somehow because of the Ministries meddling.

Harry might have been disgusted or upset with the conclusions he was arriving at a week or two before, but he was simply too tired to feel anything more than mild interest in the situation. "I could get used to this," he thought. "It's so much easier to think about everything when I'm too tired to feel anything."

He grabbed the book and performed an obscuring charm he had found when he was looking for something to teach the DA. Instead of removing the wards or charms already on the object, the charm simply interrupted the flow of the ward. It was kind of like placing a wall in the way of the magic and would redirect it into space. In short, it meant that he could put the book in his bag and walk out without having to check it out with Madame Pince and without worrying about any anti-theft charms going off. There were downsides to it. The object often broke down entirely from the pull of the magic and it was impossible to cast anything else on it. He figured the book would probably last a month at most before it disintegrated.

Shrugging his bag onto his shoulder he walked out of the library. He briefly wondered why it didn't bother him that he was stealing a book but he tried not to think about that and moved on to another question, which was why there weren't protections against the charm he had just performed. It was simple enough and it could bypass just about any basic ward, and some of the more complicated ones, there had to be ways to protect against it. As he made his way to Gryffindor tower, his mind wandered and he zoned out.

"Courage," Harry said, rolling his eyes slightly at the simple password as he stepped through the portrait hole. He looked around and didn't see anyone he knew very well. Ron and Hermione were still at St. Mungo's recovering from their injuries, so he walked up the stairs to his dormitory, dropped his bag and collapsed onto the bed. He lay there for several minutes before taking his wand out to cast a silencing spell and a privacy ward. He lay back down and spent the next thirty minutes clearing his mind, ignoring the thought that if he had done this months before his godfather might still be alive.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy sat in the opposite corner of the library finishing an extra potions project that he was doing for Professor Snape. He set his quill down and looked over his essay. He sighed. It still needed work and he prepared himself for another hour of writing. He put his hand to his neck to massage the knots. He sharply pulled his hand away thinking of the reprimand he would receive from his father if he saw him giving in to this habit in public. He sighed again and then winced as he thought about even more reprimands against sighing.<p>

He glanced up and looked around the library. Potter. He was sitting across from him. Draco leaned back in his chair and considered him. Now there was an enigma. Everything about Potter confused him. The Boy-who-Lived, champion of the wizarding world… Draco always assumed Potter would own every aspect of those titles. Using his fame to get away with all kinds of things, using it to make the school worship him in all his arrogant glory. But he didn't.

When Potter first arrived at school, he looked starved… for food or love or both, Draco couldn't tell. He looked at everyone with bright green eyes, searching for something. Again, he wasn't sure for what, affection maybe. But that had changed over the years. Each year Potter became more and more private. Ever since the end of last year, when he appeared with that Hufflepuff's body, he had changed even more. To be honest, though he would never admit it, Draco was a little scared of Potter. "Well, scared isn't quite the right word," Draco thought as he reflected. Nervous was a better description.

No, Potter had changed a lot. He reminded Draco of his father's friends. It was the way he walked, the way he looked wary, wild and dangerous. Just like his father's friends, the wariness seemed to be a part of who they were, as though they expected to be attacked at every turn but were too prepared and confident to look anything more than dangerous. Potter stood up, grabbed his book and cast a charm that made Draco's eyes open in surprise, though not so wide that anyone else would notice. He thought he felt something in his magic shift around him, but he ignored it.

"Well, well, Potter. Casting dark charms so you can steal a library book," he thought. "And he did it wordlessly which adds a level of difficulty beyond the fact that that charm is no simple feat." He then tried to forget what he'd just thought. It just added another layer to Potter that, as he had observed more and more, he didn't entirely want to know about. But his own curiosity, which he still wasn't sure why it was there, and the thought of a reward from his father for providing interesting information, made him sit back and continue thinking. His essay sat untouched in front of him until curfew when he made his way back to the dungeons.

* * *

><p>Harry awoke the next day startled to find that it was actually morning and not the middle of the night. Not only that, but he wasn't sweating. He couldn't feel the spells placed around his bed straining against his magic, and his throat wasn't raw from screaming. He made an instant decision that he would put all of his focus into learning oclumency. Clearing his mind seemed the most reasonable explanation for not having his usual nightmares as well as the ones that the Dark Lord continuously gifted him.<p>

Trying not to wake his roommates, he quietly walked into the bathrooms and took a quick shower. As he stepped out, he looked at his body in the mirror. His first thought was that he didn't look as skinny as he used to. He had been running in the mornings ever since the Room of Requirement had given him a book that explained a link between physical strength and magical strength. He continued his examination, counting all the scars on his body. A variety on his back and chest were from Uncle Vernon.

The basilisk scar was particularly nasty. He always made sure to keep it covered. It had reminded him too much of his lightning bolt scar. It had driven Harry to test the scar for lingering magic. He had spent days searching for a spell which would show the magic in a specified area. When he finally found and used the spell it definitely showed the latent magic in the scar; like he had assumed, it resembled his lightning bolt curse scar in that it was surrounded by dark magic. The difference was that the magic in his curse scar appeared to be more active, swirling and pouring from it, whereas the basilisk scar was surrounded by a latent field of dark magic. "Of course," Harry thought, "it isn't really dark magic, is it? Just magic used with intent to do evil."

He continued surveying his scars. As Harry looked at each of them, he remembered how and why he got them. It reminded him of how much he and others had given up over the years as well as how much they had achieved.

He pulled his clothes on after toweling off and was about to go grab his bag from his room when he remembered that his classes were over since he had sat the O.W.L.'s the week before. Instead of grabbing his bag, he opened it and grabbed the book he had taken the night before and headed for breakfast.

He was in a pretty good mood considering everything going on right now. He hadn't had any nightmares and he'd miraculously made progress in oclumency. Again he ignored the stab of guilt that progress brought. So far, it was a good day. As he made his way into the Great Hall, the empty seats where Ron and Hermione usually sat dampened his mood slightly but, like the guilt, he pushed it away.

He walked to the furthest end of the Gryffindor table and sat down. Grabbing a couple pieces of toast, he pulled his book out and turned to a chapter titled "Runes".

"_Runes and rituals are the origins of the modern day method of focusing magic that was developed by the Romans during the height of their empire. Though the word 'origins' implies a level of simplicity, runes and rituals were far from simple so they evolved into the simpler method of using wands and words as foci. Rituals were, and still are, incredibly complicated methods of invoking magic. Runes on the other hand have become much simpler with the discovery of wand-making. Much information on runes has been lost and classes taught on the subject lean toward learning the runic language rather than using it for its actual purpose — magic. The method is quite basic in theory. Draw the rune with your wand while focusing on the image of the rune, then push your magic into the rune to power it. This idea is simple enough, but…"_

Harry stopped reading the book. "Just draw the rune and push power into it. Huh. Sounds pretty easy to me." He glanced around and noticed a fourth-year sitting at the Ravenclaw table reading a runes textbook. Harry was about to get up and ask if he could borrow it when two things occurred to him that made him sit back down.

Draco looked up from his table and saw Harry lean back with an undreadable look on his face.

"I can't just ask the girl for her book, apart from the fact that I don't even know what I would do when I got it," Harry realized. "Would I look at the rune and try and remember it till I have time to draw it out? Or … ? Either way, I'd be calling huge amounts of attention to myself." He paused in thought. "Dammit! I am a wizard. I have the power He knows not. There is only power, those who use it and those too weak to seek it."

Harry pulled one of the large wooden bowls of fruit toward him and wordlessly banished all the fruit from it and transfigured the bowl into a small empty journal. Harry was kind of impressed with himself. He'd never performed magic in this way. The most he'd ever used magic outside of class was for the DA or when he was being attacked. He'd only just started researching things for his own use this past year.

Frowning slightly, he cast another spell, though he wasn't sure it would accomplish what he wanted and there was no way he would be able to tell if it had worked until he'd cast his next spell. He tried to make the journal able to accommodate all the pages in the girl's textbook without actually having to make more physical pages. He used the space-modifying spell that allowed trunks and rooms to have more space than what was physically possible. When he performed it, he focused on the idea of what it should do to the book. He thought it should work since the spell itself was a charm that was rooted heavily in transfiguration theory, based on willing an object to change, or at least he guessed it was, due to the spell's effect. So, he simply willed the spell on the book to do what he wanted it to.

He began to have doubts about his spell work. What he had just done went against everything he had been taught. Or if he was honest he had never actually been taught anything close to this and was just winging it, but he had this nagging feeling that it would work. He cast a quick anchoring spell on his empty journal so that his copying spell would have somewhere to copy to.

He leaned forward a little, grabbed his fork with left hand and started eating as he moved his right hand and wand under the table to aim at the girl's book. "Ha!," he thought. "I got something from the Dursleys after all, whether they wanted me to or not." The various injuries that had been caused by his 'family', as Dumbledore called them, had at times left him unable to use one hand or the other. He had been forced to learn how to use both growing up, partly preemptively and partly because there were times he just couldn't use his dominant right hand.

Smirking, he shot the copying spell at the girl's book. Then, placing his wand back into the holster on his right wrist, he continued eating. He tried not to look at his journal. He looked up again and scanned the Great Hall. His eyes drifted across the Slytherin table. Draco was sitting amongst a group of older years eating calmly. There weren't many students down this early. He was beginning to think he was too paranoid when Draco glanced up and made eye contact with him.

Harry jumped a little in his seat. Malfoy sneered at him and looked away laughing at a joke the boy on the right of him had said. Harry sat there wondering what his problem was. He picked up the transfigured book and stacked it underneath the one he had taken from the library. He calmly walked out of the Great Hall heading towards the seventh floor corridor, not noticing several pairs of curious and worried eyes following him.

Review... pretty please :)

epic


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not and am not trying to own any of the works or ideas of J.K. Rowling. She is the sole owner of that material.

AN: I also would like to add that I where my previous story was pretty much just written at random. This story will be written with an outline. There is a plan haha.

Chapter 2:

Hermione lay thinking in her bed at St. Mungo's. That's all she'd been doing really. Sleeping, eating and thinking, which, she realized, wasn't that much different than what she usually did. Of course it was interspersed with occasional tests to make sure the curse wouldn't make a recurrence while the treatments were trying to drive it from her system.

Hermione had been thinking a lot. There was a war starting, one in which she could be a central figure and not only because of her status as a smart muggleborn witch, but because she was best friends with Harry Potter. He was the real center of this war even though she didn't yet fully understand why. She had a pretty good idea it had something to do with the prophecy, the one that caused the situation that landed her in this bed. To be honest, she didn't really want to be a part of this war. She loved Harry, and Ron, she really did. But was it enough to sacrifice her happiness and safety? What about her family? If she stood with Harry, they would be dragged into the war and likely be tortured and killed.

She hadn't told Harry or Ron, but she was looking at muggle universities and was thinking about doing independent-study for her last year of Hogwarts.

She told herself that she hadn't made up her mind yet, but she already had. She would be there for Harry emotionally as long as she could, but she wouldn't… she couldn't… involve herself in this war.

She hated herself for her decision, but she just didn't have Ron's emotional attachment to the wizarding world and she didn't have Harry's obsessive hatred for everything to do with Voldemort. What did she have to fight for? She didn't grow up in this world. She had no family in this world. She loved magic and always would. Something inside of her died a little as her resolve to leave became firmer. But for the sake of her family, her world needed to be the muggle world, at least for now.

It had been a wonderful experience finding and learning about her magic, but that was all the wizarding world could offer her at the moment. It wasn't something she would give her life for. It was a bigoted community. Even if she were one hundred-percent committed to it, she would probably never be as successful as she wanted to be simply because of her status as a muggleborn. She would be constantly fighting against the stereotypes. And maybe, if Harry won, she could come back.

Yes, this was the right decision. She just hoped it wouldn't hurt Harry too much.

* * *

><p>At the same time, Ron was also thinking. It wasn't something he was really used to. He generally followed Harry and Hermione and just took cues from them, but he had changed more than anyone would realize for some time to come. An Unspeakable agent from the Department of Mysteries had come to him several nights earlier, or at least he had assumed that's whom he was. When he had asked the mediwizards later about the visit they had told him that no one had visited.<p>

According to the visitor the Brain had caused an odd side effect that was just beginning to show.

The previous owner of the Brain had been a squib who lived in 14th century France during the middle of the Hundred Years' War. He didn't fight in the conflict, but he witnessed its effect on his country. He was not a rich man, but was just influential enough to avoid being forced into anything he didn't want to be a part of. His name was Jean-Paul Malfois.

All they told him about the man was his name and Ron laughed when he heard it. Out of all the people the Brain could have belonged to, it would be one of Malfoy's ancestors. His response was perhaps a testament to how much the Brain had already affected him. The other information Ron had figured out from searching his new memories, those that the Brain had left with him.

He didn't have every single memory that Malfois had. As the visitor had explained, when memories get older they have less and less resemblance to the factual and historical events of the individuals life. They jumble together into a mix of feelings and images associated with the patterns of the previous life. Ron had recently come into awareness of the feelings from the man's childhood and he could tell that it wasn't a pleasant one.

He felt that in some small he finally understood, at least slightly, what Harry had gone through before Hogwarts. Suddenly he was able to sympathize with Harry. Ron had always thought he did that anyway. But experiencing the feelings, even though it wasn't actually happening to him… well it was horrible Ron decided.

Malfois's memories themselves weren't too much of a problem. It was more confusing than anything. The problem was that the instincts and feelings of a man who lived in the 14th century were fighting with Ron's own instincts and feelings.

The visitor had told him that there were two paths he could choose. He could learn occlumency so he could separate his memories and feelings from those of Jean-Paul Malfois and bury them deep within his subconscious. Or he could integrate them into his own and become a mix of himself and Jean-Paul.

Ron considered the two choices. In the few days he had been aware of these memories, he had come to know Jean-Paul and had begun the process of integrating this second personality into his own. He didn't think he could stand the idea of boxing this new part of him away. "Well, that settles it then," he thought.

When Professor McGonagall arrived at St. Mungo's to pick up Hermione and Ron, they had just entered the lobby from their separate wings, each escorted by a nurse. Their greeting shocked Professor McGonagall. She had expected rather raucous hellos when they saw each other, but their reaction was neither excitement nor happiness that they were both safe and together again. For merlin's sake, they had fought standing next to each other and nothing creates a stronger bond than facing death together. Sure, they seemed happy that the other wasn't hurt, but they were distant.

"Ron. How are you?"

"Never better Hermione. I got to take potions everyday for the rest of the summer and they're making me rub this salve into the scars for a while," he grimaced at the thought of the putrid solution, "but it's not as bad as it could have been. How about you?"

"I'm alright. I didn't get hurt nearly as bad as you were. It was only because I was at the Ministry that I got taken to St. Mungo's. Otherwise, I would have been okay with Pomphrey."

And after that they just fell into a polite silence. "They're so young," McGonagall thought. "They're probably still trying to comprehend what they're getting into. And once they do, they will be even stronger friends than they were before." It wouldn't be until the start of the next term that she would realize how wrong she was.

* * *

><p>Many of the Hogwarts students had a vision of what the Slytherin common room looked like. The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in particular thought it probably resembled a cold and damp dungeon full of torture devices and books on the darkest magic. Harry and Ron new better but they didn't argue. This was because the Slytherins had a reputation for being dark Death Eater-wannabes and truth be told many of them were.<p>

But no, despite popular belief, the Slytherin common room was a perfect image of wealth and luxury. Its high ceilings were supported by dark stone walls hung with rich patterned tapestries that were matched by ornate rugs covering the slate floor. Against the eastern wall was an enormous fireplace of obsidian. When the fire was lit, the light glittered off the intricately carved snakes engraved into the rock. The room was a legacy to the Slytherins from the founder of their house and had been added to and refined by rich Slytherin graduates since then.

Draco sat staring at a fire that had died hours earlier. The glow from the coals reflected off the obsidian, causing shadows and flashes of light to dance around the room

"Who are you, Potter?" he whispered, his eyes flashing with the light from the coals.

Potter had performed the most stupid amount of complicated magic. Why bother stealing the girl's book and expending all that energy to do it when he could've just asked her for it. He was the boy-who-lived. Of course, she would let him use it. There had to be some other purpose. Maybe he didn't want people to know that he wanted the information in that book. So he took it without anyone knowing or seeing, apart from myself of course. He went about it like a Slytherin would, though in a stupid Gryffindor way. He did it in front of almost the entire staff in a room where it is forbidden to use magic. And he had had that strange feeling again, but father wouldn't want to hear about that. What could have been so important that made Potter do all that?

The glow of the coals lit Draco's tense face. "What to do," he thought, "what to do?"

* * *

><p>Harry walked out of the Great Hall, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to look calm and not draw attention to himself, waiting for a teacher to stop and ask what he thought he was doing by stealing the girl's book. As the door shut behind him, he looked down at what he was carrying. His knuckles were white from gripping the two books pressed against the inside of his forearm. Releasing a breath, he relaxed his grip on the books and forced his heart to calm down as he walked toward a small statue several yards from the doors that had just closed behind him. He made sure nobody was around and then ran his fingers along the edges of the square top of the short marble pillar holding the statue. He squinted at the wall on the left side of the statue and then walked through it, appearing in an unused classroom on the seventh-floor corridor.<p>

Several months earlier, for various reasons, he had stopped using the Room of Requirements for personal use. The DA knew about the room. And after Marietta Edgecombe told Umbridge about the DA, not only did Umbridge know about the room, so did the entire Inquisitorial Squad. And that didn't even include any of the nonmembers who were told about it by their DA friends.

He had needed to blow off a lot of steam over the last several months and he hadn't wanted Ron or Hermione knowing about it. He thought maybe he was experiencing some of the Dark Lord's emotions. It certainly seemed that he was feeling emotions that were not proportional to the situations that caused them. The frequent bouts of intense happiness and anger that occurred periodically throughout the day had almost driven him insane. So he would sneak away to the classroom using various hidden passages that he had discovered on his own and with the Marauders Map. Ron and Hermione hated when he went anywhere without telling them and the Room of Requirement would be one of the first places they looked.

Harry sat down in the middle of the plain classroom facing the door leading to the hallway. All of the desks were pushed to the back of the room. The morning light shone through the windows despite the fact that the room was actually in the interior of the school.

He placed the books in front of him.

"_Draw the rune with your wand while focusing on the image of the rune, then push your magic into the rune to power it_."

He opened the small journal to a random page toward the end of the book. The top of the page displayed a rune with a caption underneath that read simply, "To Block". It was followed by a brief description of how the rune was often used to describe walls and its first documented use. Harry ignored all that and flicked his wrist; his wand shot into his hand. Thinking of his encounter with Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, he drew the rune. It hung in the air in front of him in what looked like thin ropes of flame.

"It looks exactly like the one in the book, but how am I supposed to push my magic into it?" he thought. Acting from instinct, his eyes shut and he cleared his mind. He tried to feel the magic inside of him, to find the feeling of power he had experienced when he first picked up his wand in Diagon Alley or when he accidentally apparated onto the roof of his primary school.

There. He let out a breath of amazement. It was like a small warmth inside of him, buried deep within his very being. He tried to bring it closer so he could feel the warmth better but it pulled at him instead. There was a jerk and he felt his mind strain. It was the most bizarre feeling Harry had ever experienced. It was like his mind was being forced to separate from his body. The warmth jerked again, this time with a sharp stab of pain at the center of his brain. He panicked and struggled as it tried to pull his mind from his body and encompass it. It had grown from a simple jerk to a constant pull. He could feel his throat tearing as he screamed. Blood streamed from his nose and he felt sweat dripping from his skin as his muscles seized. The inner battle was beginning to take its toll on his physical body. He couldn't tell how long it had been since he had first closed his eyes. The pain was worse than that of the Cruciatus curse. That only caused physical pain. He felt this pain in his soul as well as his body. There was a sharp snap and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore sat in his office with his eyes closed. It had been a very long week. He reached into his bright green robes and pulled out a lemon drop out of a pocket that was decorated with Nargles flying along the stitching. His tired blue eyes opened briefly and peered over the half moon spectacles to inspect it. After deciding that it hadn't picked up any fluff or hair from the inside of his pocket, he blew on it and popped it into his mouth.<p>

Yes, it had been a very long week and not even his lemon drops seemed able to lessen his tension. He paused, considering his position as headmaster and leader of the Order of the Phoenix. He wasn't impressed with what he had done. He had made many mistakes the past year and now the chickens were coming home to roost. Dumbledore bit down on his candy and started chewing.

"Do you think he can forgive me?" he asked Fawkes, who chirped sadly in response.

The list of mistakes he had made about the boy's affairs were too long to be forgivable. His only saving grace was that Harry seemed to be taking Sirius' death well. Perhaps too well, but that was something to worry about later in the summer after more time had passed. "I pushed him away thinking that Tom would use him to attack me," he said to Fawkes. "I had him take Occlumency lessons with Severus hoping they could both work past their issues. But, being a natural Occlumens, I overlooked the fact that in order for the lessons to work there had to be mutual trust from the start. The lessons failed and it put Harry in an even weaker state of mind. I wasn't sure yet whether Tom was aware of the nature of his bond with Harry and I didn't want to alert him by giving Harry more detailed information, so I didn't. And Tom was a step ahead of me the entire time. He already knew of the bond they shared and was experimenting with it even as I decided not to tell Harry about it." Fawkes trilled gently, trying to comfort his friend.

"Headmaster, look!" whispered Phineas Nigellus' portrait from behind him.

Dumbledore lifted his head to see what the previous headmaster was looking at, a little silver instrument that was spinning so fast its metal arms were blurred. Dumbledore's eyes stared uncomprehending as his mind played catch-up. The instrument detected large bursts of magic coming from within the castle walls. He quickly stood up from his chintz armchair, fearing that Voldemort had somehow managed to find his way into the school and was beginning his attack. He glanced at his other instruments. If it was an attack, they would show other evidence proving it, but they continued operating normally. He looked back at the first instrument to find that it was no longer spinning out of control and was running as it normally did. Dumbledore collapsed back into his chair.

"You're getting slow, Albus," Phineas said. "You must rest. It has been a long week and your body and magic are exhausted from your duel with the Dark Lord. You cannot continue at this rate. You must pace yourself, or at least entrust some of these devices to others so you do not have so much to keep your eye on."

"Phineas, this burden can not rest with anyone but myself."

"At least give some of them to Alastor. He —"

"Alastor has enough to deal with already managing the Order's operations. No, this is something I must do. I cannot trust the safety of Britain's children with anyone but myself.

Phineas made an exasperated noise and walked out of his frame. The other portraits whispered amongst themselves as he left. Dumbledore sighed, turning his attention back to the little device that been whirring around a minute before and wondering what could have caused such a large flux of magic and if it was a danger to the school.

* * *

><p>His eyes slowly opened to see the ceiling above.<p>

"Where am I?" Harry wondered.

He moved his head slightly to the right and the rest of the room went with it several times over. His stomach took a violent turn with the room and he vomited. Wiping his mouth, he carefully moved his head back to its previous position. The room spun the other direction and Harry threw up again. He closed his eyes and fell back into oblivion.

Harry's first thought as he awoke a few hours later was how disgusting the room smelled. "The last thing I remember is how — how what?" He sat up and his head throbbed in pain. Looking around the room, his eyes rested on the glowing rune hanging in the air. He pulled back his sleeve to check the time on his watch; it was close to dinnertime. His eyes slid from his watch to his feet. Disgusted, he stepped away from whatever they were standing in and picked his wand up from where it had rolled after he had passed out. He cleaned up the mess with a vanishing spell and then aimed a Scourgify at the floor and his robes.

Finished with damage control, he looked back up at the rune. It was pulsing with energy. Harry started walking around it, but when he was almost parallel with the rune's edge, ran into a wall. It was completely invisible and extended as far as he could reach. He stepped back staring in awe.

As he stood there, he realized he could feel his whole body humming. The warmth he had been struggling with earlier felt as though it encompassed him. "What is this?" Harry asked himself breathlessly. It was as though his entire body was alive with energy. This must have been how Tom Riddle had felt when he first began his own extracurricular studies. He put his hand up to touch the rune, but as he did, it fell apart. The thin ropes of magic that once were the rune dispersed into the air around him. He pushed his hand further. The wall that had been there had disappeared as well.

Harry grinned, eyeing his two new books with glee. He reached down to pick them up and headed for dinner. He had spent almost the entire day in the classroom and he didn't want anyone to worry he was missing. Though he didn't know who would notice or care since Ron and Hermione weren't there. His mind was going a mile a minute thinking of all the things he had discovered over the past couple days and the impact they would have on his future.

"Something happened today, something that changed me. I feel so alive. Like I could do anything." Harry mulled it over. He really had no idea what had happened. This was Hermione or Dumbledore's turf. All he knew was that he could practically feel the magic crackling inside of him. His mind continued to think about the possible ramifications of what had happened as he walked into the Great Hall.

"Harry!"

He heard it faintly behind all the theories churning around in his mind.

"Harry!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Harry turned to the source of the voice shouting his name.

"Hullo Hermione," he said smiling, quickening his pace to meet her and Ron. "Ron," he said. He stopped in front of both of them and forgot about everything that had happened over the last couple days, as he looked them over with guilt and relief. "Thank Merlin you guys are alright, I thought—"

Hermione cut him off with a massive hug. Ron just stood their grinning at the two of them.

After Hermione pulled away Harry continued, "How are you? How are your, umm…well, your injuries? I'm so sorry. I almost did to you what I did to Siri –"

Hermione interrupted him. "Harry, stop. We don't blame you for any of it. We went with you of our own free will. You didn't force us. Our injuries were caused by Death Eaters who were twice, almost three times, our age and experience, not by you." She stepped forward slightly to hug him again but hesitated and stood still.

"Yeah, mate," added Ron, "It's not your fault and neither was—" he caught him self before he said the name, "It was Vol- Voldemort that caused it and Bellatrix who did it. Don't worry we'll get that bi–"

"Ouch! What was that for, Hermione?" He looked at Hermione who had elbowed him.

Hermione glared back at him. "Anyway, Harry, you mustn't blame yourself. We don't. We never will."

Harry nodded. If they weren't going to blame him for their injuries, then he wasn't either. As quickly as he left, he entered it again; he was back in the frame of mind he had been in earlier that day. He couldn't help but feel something was different about his two friends. They both seemed tense and nervous and wouldn't make eye contact with him or each other.

It didn't matter. He had other things to think about, like Sirius. He wasn't injured; he was dead. Nothing could bring him back. Harry thought, "I will avenge your death, Sirius. I've lost a lot of people and indirectly caused many of their deaths. But, I will not sit by and feel sorry for myself this time. I will find you, Lestrange, and this time it won't be a failed Cruciatus curse that I hit you with."

"Harry?" Hermione said a little nervously. "Are you alright?"

"Sorry, I was distracted. What were you saying?"

They were sitting down now at the end of the Gryffindor table. Ron systematically shoveling food into his mouth, though periodically his arm would jerk as though he was attempting to stop. Each time this happened Ron seemed to lose himself in his own world for a second and with a snap he'd be out of it and the food would continue on its journey to his mouth. Hermione kept glancing worriedly at him each time it happened.

She hesitated a little, turning her attention back to Harry. "I asked how you had been the last couple days?"

Harry debated taking the two of them away to tell them about the book he had taken… well… stolen from the Library, and about his fight with his magic or about the prophecy.

He smiled slightly. "I didn't really do anything. I just kind of sat around, slept a little. I was worried about both of you. I'm just glad you two are alright."

Dumbledore sat at the Staff table watching Harry with curiosity. Harry's aura had changed in the past day. Snape leaned in to speak to Dumbledore.

"He found his core, Headmaster. You see it in his aura too, don't you? Don't ask me how the boy worked up the mental ability to do that when he could never clear his mind during the entire time he worked with me. He is as arrogant and as stupid as his–"

"Yes, I noticed. Though I hadn't yet come to that conclusion," Dumbledore said.

"You realize that this will mean the students will be forced to choose now more than before? He'll be worse than ever with the half of these fools' magic pledging themselves to him…" He trailed off realizing Dumbledore wasn't paying attention.

Could that have been the cause of the power surge that occurred this morning? It was possible, but that would mean that Harry held a large pool of magic within him. Though the boy was an amazing person, he had always displayed mediocre magical ability both in his classes and the tests they'd performed. But, maybe we missed something. Albus's eyes began twinkling like crazy.

Severus pulled away in disgust. "What are you so excited about? You can't possibly be thinking that your golden boy is somehow surpassing — ah…" Snape stopped mid-sentence and sneered as he turned back to his meal.

Thanks for reading everyone! Please review :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not and am not trying to own any of the works or ideas of J.K. Rowling. She is the sole owner of that material.

Chapter 3

The distant sound of the television downstairs filtered into his room as Harry sat on his bed at his aunt and uncle's house in Surrey.

He hated Surrey. He hated his aunt and uncle. He did _not_ want to be here. Harry slammed the bottom of his fist against the wall and watched a small crack appear in the drywall.

"BOY! What the hell do you think you're doing up there?"

Harry fumed. "Sorry Uncle!" he yelled back.

God dammit. It wasn't even like he could look back happily on the last couple weeks of school. There had been _some_ good things. He had discovered the book in the library that forced him to start thinking about things he had never considered before.

Discovering runic magic was also a good thing. It was something he could work towards. Hopefully, it could give him an edge in the future, but he knew that it was going to take a lot of work before he ever reached that point.

Both discoveries were completely overshadowed by the loss of Sirius and hearing the prophecy. He had accepted Sirius's death; he had died fighting like he would have wanted. Sirius knew the risks. Harry couldn't blame himself for that. But it still hurt. Like there was a gaping hole inside of him.

And the prophecy? He didn't want to think about it yet. It meant he would be forced into fighting the Dark Lord and that terrified him more than he would admit. More than anything, it was Ron and Hermione that really bothered him.

It was odd. Out of all the drama that happened at the end of last term it was the change in Ron and Hermione that bothered him the most. The last days they spent together before the summer holidays were strange at the best of times and uncomfortable at the worst. Ron's jokes fell flat and every conversation seemed to suffer a stroke and ended in awkward silence.

It wasn't just the conversation that was uncomfortable. Both Ron and Hermione seemed constantly lost in thought, which was weird, but even weirder was that Hermione didn't insist on studying for the next year's classes. Harry had fond memories of Hermione trying to get him and Ron to study in past years, telling them they should be preparing and that it could only help them. This year, she never brought it up.

"What happened? What was different?" Harry thought.

It's not like they hadn't faced danger before. Every year, at least one of them ended up in the hospital wing with injuries of some kind from their adventures. Apparently, this time was different. Sure, they had ended up at St. Mungo's and Ron's injury had needed the Healers the hospital offered, but Hermione's injury hadn't been that bad.

But apart from that Harry couldn't tell the difference between this year's "adventure"and last year's. It was the same stuff he had been facing since first year.

Harry felt ill as the realization hit him.

Ron and Hermione had never been there with him when stuff got really dirty, when the situation changed from the possibility of breaking a bone to the possibility of being murdered. From excitement to just pure fear. The closest they had come was when Ginny had been taken into the chamber, but even then it was only Ron that had experienced that not Hermione.

The chance of dying had always been present, but they'd never faced someone who was actually trying to kill them.

"People always think it would be great to go on adventures," Harry thought, closing his eyes as he drifted to sleep.

"But it truly _is_ awful." Voldemort's voice whispered in his mind. "The fear that your life could be over any second makes your mind race in panic. Logic disappears and your only thought is escape. Your heart pounds, your body courses with adrenalin, and every noise and movement makes your mind reel in terror like a pig squealing when it smells the blood and death of its own kind."

Harry's eyes opened in horror at the sound of Voldemort's voice, Harry scrambled into a corner of the room, and realized as he did so that he was no longer in his room on Privet Drive.

"You're like a roach fleeing from the light, Harry," Voldemort said with disgust. "I don't intend to hurt you in here."

"Where am I? How did I get here?" Harry demanded. His eyes flicked around the unfamiliar room searching for an escape.

"Calm yourself boy. In short, this is a dream. The theory behind this level of magic would I'm sure be lost on you. We are in your mind. I do not wish to repeat myself again, I wish you no harm."

Harry looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in a small room, though it had very high ceilings. It was a mess, papers and books haphazardly thrown about. The furniture was old and beaten, but it looked like someone had been mending the fabrics and started refinishing the wood.

"Come sit, Harry. We have much to discuss." Voldemort patted the chair he was standing behind.

Harry carefully walked over to sit in the chair opposite the one Voldemort offered. Voldemort seemed almost sane right now, which was almost more terrifying in it self. As Harry sat, he glanced around the room that represented his mind, noting what a disaster it was.

Voldemort caught the embarrassment on his face, "Your mind looks like this because this is what you are." He stood next to Harry's chair. Voldemort looked around the room. "Pathetic. You're a mess, Harry. Five years at Hogwarts and this is all you can show for yourself — broken furniture and couple of battered, broken books thrown around the room? Ahh… but it's not all a loss is it?" He walked over to a small bookshelf in the corner. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Bewildered, Harry just followed him with his eyes. He had no idea what was going on. They were in his mind having a civil conversation? A chat? This whole calm Dark Lord thing was disconcerting. Voldemort obviously used the scar to get in. But how was he supposed to escape his own mind then?

Voldemort interrupted his thoughts, "Well, my boy, what knowledge you do have tucked into your mind seems to be developing into quite a little collection. Nothing that profound but an interesting selection of topics for Dumbledore's favorite. Come and see."

Harry sat where he was.

Voldemort, seeing that Harry wasn't going to get up, turned back to the shelf and started reading titles and authors. "_Basic Magic, _by Harry Potter; _How to Lie, _by Harry Potter; _Will, _by Harry Potter; _How Not to be Noticed, _by Harry Potter; _How to Withstand Pain, _by Harry Potter — and you've started a little compendium of torture techniques based on personal experience." Voldemort chuckled a little. "Not exactly what the savior of the wizarding world needs to know. Especially if he is destined to face me."

"You know the prophecy?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. He mentally berated himself for being so stupid. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut just for once?

"No need to worry Harry. You haven't let anything slip I don't already know. I managed to — ah — acquire the old fortune teller who made it. Right from underneath the old man's nose, too. I'm sure he's realized by now. You should have heard her screams. They were…" he made a noise of satisfaction, "thrilling!"

Harry paled. "Why are you here?"

"I came to make a proposition. Join me. Come with me and I will train you as my apprentice. Your friends have left you, though you've not realized it yet. I can see it in your mind here. They won't risk their lives for you again. How could they —"

"No, they hav —"

"Harry! Harry… lets not be naïve here." Voldemort turned his back to the bookshelf putting the desk between them. "Why would they stay? They don't know loss like you do. They just had a bite of it and decided they didn't like the taste," he laughed. "You have nothing to offer them but death, Harry. You're no savant. You cannot offer them protection. You are alone in this and are just beginning to see it. Your godfather is dead and your friends are gone. So, what do you have left? Come with me. By my side, you'll be honored and feared." Voldemort placed both his hands on the desk and stared down at Harry intently.

"No…" Harry wasn't sure if he was denying Voldemort or the thought of his friends leaving.

"No?" Voldemort repeated sensing the double meaning.

"No…" Harry said again stronger ignoring the nagging doubt that his friends would abandon him. "I can't. I won't." He felt a power build within him. "My friends may leave me," Harry shuddered at the thought and hoped it wasn't actually happening, "and Sirius may be dead, but I will not betray their names any more than I could betray the names of my mother and father and all those who died at your hand." Despite the strength of his voice Harry felt as though he was about to cry. He could not directly confront this man who had infiltrated his mind. He could see the state his mind was in and the little knowledge it held. He had failed.

Voldemort sighed. "Such bravery. I had thought as much. I had hoped you might reconsider." He paused and pulled his wand out of his sleeve. "But, I do have something else. You could call it a request."

He twirled the wand in his hand expertly while he continued. "I am bored, Harry."

Harry continued to stare into Voldemort's eyes.

The sanity Voldemort had seconds before vanished. He was grinning insanely. A grin so evil and inhuman it sent a chill down Harry's spine.

"… The blood, watching them all scream in fear. But that is only a part of it. The Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix are all that oppose me. They're as pathetic as this room… unable to do anything to stop me, always a step behind…!" Voldemort's screaming voice was filled with a sickening love for the war and total rage at his enemies.

Harry stared frozen in fear. This was not even the Voldemort he had seen the previous year. While Harry would never have argued in favor of Voldemort's mental stability before, he seemed positively human compared to now, snake face and all.

The man who stood before him now, mental representation or not, was a demon. His eyes burned like molten steel with a power that seemed to extend past his physical body. He was little more than skin and bones, made all the more horrifying by the sheer size of him standing at a height that seemed to rival Hagrid.

"And then there's you," he sneered. "You… who's supposed to be the only capable of defeating me. You could be powerful," he said with consideration, "if you had the knowledge. You've seen your core and connected with it. You even broke through the blocks you placed on yourself when you were a small child. But you lack initiative. You'd think revenge would be enough. It was for me."

Shame and rage burned in Harry at the comparison and implied criticism. He'd never even tried to prepare for Voldemort.

"I may have marked you, but you are not my equal." Voldemort said in disgust. "So fight me! Prove who the fates say you are," he let out a finale scream of rage raising his wand a beam of magic shot toward Harry.

Harry cried in pain as the beam shot into his body. Harry's mind and body screamed against it. It was wrong. No one should touch another's mind this way. The core of his very being, something that seemed even beyond his soul, was pulling away in disgust at the mutilation it was undergoing.

Voldemort's piercing laughter woke something deep inside Harry. He fought through the pain remembering the night in the atrium, under the statue of Magical Brethren. He tried to push all the love he could into Voldemort.

His mind moved from his parents to his friends, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Lupin, Sirius…

Voldemort laughed with continued energy, "What did I tell you my chosen one. You know they've all abandoned you when you don't even have faith in them. You can't fight like this. What will you do little boy. You're all alone. It's not enough to stop me." He finished in a sing-song tone.

The pain was too much. Harry felt his mind slowly collapse around him as it retreated deeper into itself after his failed attempt at fighting back. The furniture burst apart showering Voldemort and Harry with wooden splinters. Through the blood obstructing his vision he could see Voldemort standing over him cackling as blood flowed down his own arms and face.

The walls fell apart. Not as violently as the furniture but imploding and dissolving into nothing. Harry looked past Voldemort into the emptiness. He looked into the abyss and felt something stir both inside him and in the darkness for they were one in the same.

His arm began to throb where the basilisk fang had pierced his skin. He could feel each of the scars given to him by the Dursley's burn with renewed pain as if injuries were fresh. And with the pain came strength.

It was his pain. The pain of his past imprinted on his soul and very being.

Voldemort's laughing calmed. "Grasp it. Use it."

Harry was lost staring into the darkness. He felt his mind reach out and touch, no, not touch. It was something deeper than physical touch. He brushed the darkness with his mind and closed around it. It slithered in his mental grasp like one of the plants that grew in the water of the Hogwarts Lake.

Harry tightened his grip. His eyes opened and he looked up at Voldemort, "Leave here. Now." His voice was calm despite the pain he'd been caused and was causing himself.

Voldemort stared back at him his eyes boring into Harry's, "Why?"

Harry tensed and pulled the tendrils in the darkness has hard as he could. "LEAVE!" he yelled. He felt the darkness pour into him filling him with all the pain he'd ever experienced and threw it toward Voldemort.

An invisible force slammed into the Dark Lord's tall form and through him back pinning him where the wall used to be.

Harry looked down at his hands. They were shaking slightly. Coated in blood that was beginning to dry. He could see hundreds of small needles stuck in his skin. He could still feel the pain flowing through him. It hurt but the pain was _his_ and no one else's. He wasn't sure why but that somehow made it okay. He looked back up at Voldemort.

Their eyes met. Voldemorts lips parted in a skeletal grin. "When it is time we will meet. And maybe then you will be my equal."

Harry laughed letting the power take him over. He could feel it course through him, "Why not now Tom? Scared you'll be beat by me again?

Voldemort's grin fell away. "You've done well but you can't hold me here, boy. You are not in control. I am." With that power flooded out of him as though a dam had been unleashed overwhelming Harry's own grasp throwing him backwards similar to what he had done a second earlier. Harry fell to the floor. His grasp on the tendrils of darkness released entirely and his past pain left him replaced by the current agony he was in.

Voldemort walked toward him and kneeled down. "You get a year, maybe more. I have much to do and you're not a challenge now. I want this to be fun."

Harry's vision was becoming blurry has his mind and body started to give into exhaustion. Voldemort grabbed Harry's chin and sharply twisted his head so their eyes were even.

"It is luck that you lived in the past. You live today because _I_ wish it. You have a year before I come for you. I left you present to hopefully inspire you. Use her well."

Harry fell into darkness, listening to the echoes of that screaming laughter.

* * *

><p>Tonks sat on the sidewalk across the street from Harry's house. She wasn't worried about being seen. It was late and the notice-me-not charm would do the rest.<p>

Guard duty was so boring. She sat and stared up at the sky thoughtlessly. It was difficult to take these long shifts seriously. The chances of an attack on Harry were slim to none. Dumbledore himself had said the addition of a guard was merely a precaution. It was clear, but unsaid, that they were also there to make sure Harry didn't leave.

She stood up and stretched. Her shift was almost over. She could practically feel her body hitting the mattress when she thought about falling into bed. She could also hear screaming, which was odd. That wasn't a sound she usually fell asleep to. Tonk's brain snapped to attention. What was she doing? She mentally berated herself. Screams. Who is screaming?

"Shit," she swore to herself already sprinting toward Number 4 as her brain continued playing catch up.

She pulled out her wand and blew the door open. She barely heard a woman screaming while she shoved past a large man who was rapidly changing colors. Harry. Have to get to Harry.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" The already purple man bellowed as she raced up the stairs.

She threw open the door. Harry was lying on the floor next to his bed. His legs tangled in the sheets and blankets thrashed around as if they had a will of their own. Harry's upper body was still. His eyes were open, but only the whites of eyes could be seen. His back arched unnaturally, mouth open in a silent scream.

"You're trespassing. I will not have your FILTH in my…" His voice trailed off as his eyes fell on Harry.

Harry found his voice again and the silence disappeared with it. His screams sliced through the house like blade. More horrifying was the sound of a second voice coming from the boy, also screaming but with laughter rather than pain.

Vernon collapsed backward in horror. "Get it out of my house. We want nothing more to do with him," he whispered. The sound of his voice brought Tonks out of her shock

Ignoring Vernon she lunged at Harry and disapparated to the front porch of Grimmauld Place. She quickly opened the door while trying to pull a still screaming and thrashing Harry through the door. Remus hurried into the entrance hall with Snape when they heard Mrs. Black join Harry's screaming.

"What happened?" Snape asked, as he hurried over to grab the boy from Tonks and take him to the living room.

"I don't know," Tonks panted, her black hair flat against her forehead with perspiration. "I was sitting outside when he just started screaming inside his room. The wards weren't disturbed. I didn't see anything happen," she answered quickly as her own panic started to catch up with her.

"I'll call Albus!" Remus ran out of the room to call him as Dumbledore walked in through the opposite door shouting, "Harry's been taken! He's not at his Aunt and Uncle's." Dumbledore stopped when he saw Harry on the couch. He blinked, his brain quickly switching gears. "What happened?"

Snape used a spell to banish several potions directly into Harry's stomach and stupefied him to keep him from further hurting himself. He looked to Tonks. She had brought the boy here. But she had already gone into shock and was sitting on the floor shaking. Idiotic children, he thought to himself. He answered for her, "We don't know, Headmaster. Nobody entered the house, my first guess would be poison or mental attack."

Dumbledore looked down at the stupefied boy in thought. He glanced at Snape, who stared unblinkingly back at him. He turned and hurried from the room.

"Call Pomfrey, I'll go—" the rest of his sentence was lost to them as he raced out the front door and disapparated without closing it.

Remus ran back into the room form the kitchen with Madame Pomfrey behind him. "Couldn't find Albus," he explained, "I sent a Patronus." Snape sneered back at him. Pomfrey stepped past the two men, looked down at an unconscious Harry and began issuing orders.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He had called an emergency Order meeting.<p>

The room was quiet. The entire Weasley family stood in a corner of the room. Molly crying loudly into Arthurs shoulder. The rest of the Order milled about, whispering with each other and trading rumors. Occasionally, someone shot pitying looks over at the distraught family of redheads.

Dumbledore cleared his throat calling for quiet. The Order members quickly moved to sit down or to wherever they planned on standing for the rest of the meeting. The room fell quiet and Dumbledore spoke, "Tonight, around one a.m., Harry Potter was attacked by Voldemort."

As quickly as the silence had fallen it was broken. Gasps were heard throughout the room. Snape snorted to himself in the corner. Pathetic, he thought to himself. Bookstore clerks, restaurant owners these weren't soldiers. The number of people in the room who had seen combat were small and of those the number who knew what to do when they found themselves in such situations even smaller. It was a wonder they were able to do anything at all to stop the Dark Lord.

"Severus, if you could?" Dumbledore made a gesture for him to speak.

"Of course, Headmaster." The eyes of the Order shifted around to the corner where he stood. "Madame Pomfrey and I stabilized Potter's condition. However we were unable to ascertain much apart from the fact that it was not poison. Likely the Dark Lord personally attacked the boy's mind. We learned little else as we did not want to disturb the boy's natural shields causing more damage than was already done."

"Thank you, Severus. Harry was not Voldemort's only target tonight," Dumbledore said, addressing the order again. "He succeeded in kidnapping two individuals. Professor Trelawney disappeared around noon today and is presumed dead, though until our sources tell us otherwise we will hold out hope that she might yet still live."

Again, whispers flooded the room asking each other why Trelawney would be taken. Lupin and Mad-eye exchanged a glance. They knew of the prophecies existence and where it originated. If Voldemort were aware of the prophecy, his tactics would become more aggressive than they had been before.

Dumbledore silenced the order by raising his hand. "I would like us all to offer our condolences to the Weasley family." Molly let out a heart-wrenching sob and fled the room. Other ran out after her. Dumbledore looked to the Weasley boy's to see if they needed to leave as well. They stayed where they were, so he continued. "The other that was taken today was young Ginevra Weasley. We are not sure how she was taken or when. It is a horrible wake up call to realize that we have not done enough to protect those close to Harry. We will work to prevent this in the future."

"Her body was found under the Dark Mark in a small park several blocks from Harry's family home. I was able to retrieve her remains and modify the Dursley's memories before the ministry arrived at the scene."

The kitchen was silent. It wasn't a tactical attack, just sheer cold-hearted murder aimed at causing pain and pain alone.

The Weasleys were in shock. Dumbledore watched them sadly as he ended the meeting and the Order's members quietly offered apologies and condolences to the boys as they left the room.

Ron caught Dumbledore's eye. The boy looked sad, but not in the same state of shock as his brothers. His eyes burned with anger and resolve.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. These deaths were always tragic, though they had their benefits. The death of a loved one drove many to fight in this unforgiving war. It was all that kept some from rolling over and giving in to Tom and his followers.

"Severus, please stay for a moment."

Snape nodded in response. He stood tensely in the corner as both he and Dumbledore waited for the last of the Order to leave.

The door shut with small click. "What else did you and Poppy learn of Harry's state?"

Snape stepped forward and began the second part of his report. "I did not risk legilimancy The Dark Lord might have noticed me in Potter's mind, a risk because of the connection through the curse scar. Potter's mind has also begun developing basic Occlumency shields in reflex to the Dark Lord's constant attacks. Making the whole process slightly more difficult," Snape paused for a question. Dumbledore gestured for him to continue.

"What little we did learn was that the Dark Lord did in fact enter Harry's mind. We won't know what was done specifically until the boy wakes. When that happens we will need to quickly learn what happened and if it will become a threat."

"What was the objective, do you think Severus?"

"If I were asked to guess, which I don't like doing, I would say he attempted to alter the boy's personality in some way."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in thought. "And you think this is the most likely possibility?"

"You do not?"

"I am merely curious, my boy. It is important to not limit ones perspective. Particularly when it comes to Harry"

"I see. I think it is the most likely possibility," he hesitated, "it is merely a guess. I don't believe the boy capable of winning a mental battle with the Dark Lord. And I don't believe it possible that the Dark Lord failed to achieve whatever it was he attempted tonight. Though the boy is nothing if not lucky."

They both lapsed into silence thinking about the possible ramifications of Voldemort's attack.

"If I may, headmaster?" Snape said bowing slightly.

Dumbledore recognized the request to leave, "Of course, my boy."

Snape bowed again and withdrew from the kitchen.

Oh my poor child, Dumbledore thought to himself. For Harry it was always one loss after another. It seemed no matter how hard Dumbledore tried to protect the boy he was always going to be fate's little toy.

* * *

><p>Harry woke up in darkness panicking.<p>

"Where am I!" he tried calling out but it came out as not even a whisper. He attempted to open his eyes but his efforts provided no success.

"Calm down, Potter. You're safe," replied Snape as he pushed Harry's arms back against his sides. "Do not squirm. You're body is already damaged enough with out you causing more harm."

Harry slowly laid back and tried to calm down. He could see only black, not even the smallest speck of light. He lay there for several minutes before he asked, "Who was it?"

"The Weasley girl," Snape responded slowly, prepared to restrain Harry again if necessary.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Tears slipped from between his closed eyelids.

Snape looked at Harry curiously. "Potter, what did the Dark Lord do?"

Harry did not respond at first. Snape began to grow impatient and was about to reprimand him when Harry started to speak.

"He knew the prophecy and he offered me a position as his apprentice."

It wasn't much of a surprise. It put forward another question of whether the Dark Lord truly thought the boy could be turned or if it was merely a ploy. An unfortunate result of the Dark Lord having such a solid connection the boy was that he possibly knew more about Potter than anyone else. Likely even Potter himself.

Harry continued, his voice empty of emotion. "I turned him down. The Dark Lord cannot offer me what I want."

Snape's eyes widened slightly with interest. Calling him the Dark Lord was a term of respect. Or it had been, in the beginning. Now it was simply a term of fear like all his other pseudonyms. But for the boy to call him that surely suggested some sort of tampering on the part of Voldemort. Snape shook himself, realizing that Harry was still talking.

"We were in my mind. He asked me to sit down across from him."

That the Dark Lord was able to interact with Potter's mind at that level showed how close their connection really was.

"Was it your own construction? Or something the Dark Lord created?" Snape questioned a little more sharply than he meant to. Potter would need to truly master Occlumency and Legilimency if he was going to resist.

"It was my own."

The Dark Lord could not be allowed to continue accessing the boy's thoughts at this level. It was not only damaging to Potter's mind but he would not have an advantage if the Dark Lord could enter his mind whenever he wanted.

"He told me that he was bored and he wanted…" he trailed off.

Snape's hands gripped the edge of Potter's bed. "What did he want?"

"Ginny," the boy whispered in as close to cry as his voice could let him, "I'm sorry."

The Dark Lord wanted the Weasley girl? Why? No, that wasn't right. "Potter," Snape demanded, "What was it, what did he want?"

The boy's mind had slipped away. All that was coming out of his mouth were apologies and the Weasley girl's name. Damn.

"Potter," he said with more force.

Potter's eyes snapped open. His eyes locked with Snape's. "A year. I have a year." The boy's eyes glowed with power. Snape took a step back away from the table. Those eyes weren't Lily's. They were the color of death. Snape had seen that color more times than he could count. Both from his own words and those of the others he served with. It was as though each of the boy's iris was it's own Avada Kedavra trained on his body.

Snape stared back unwilling to admit the fear in the back of his mind from meeting that gaze. "What are you talking about a boy? A year for what?" Potter broke the stare and looked back at the ceiling.

"One year," he repeated as his eyes closed again.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading everyone. Review review review :)<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

"Once again, I find myself dealing with your failure. If I didn't know your incompetence better, I would think that you were purposefully testing my patience."

"My lord. I offer no excuses. But if it were not for Dumbledore and the others it would not have—"

"Crucio," Lucius fell to his knees bearing the customary curse with as much poise as he could manage. It was one of the few things he refused to give to his lord.

One was the sound of his screams. The other was his family, though there had been little he was able to do. More than most, though. Draco was still free of his Lord's mark. Even Narcissa had been spared to some extent.

"You continue to offer this… reasoning… as though it somehow absolves you of blame. You were held at bay for more than ten minutes by teenagers!" The disgust dripped from his words like poison.

"My lord, I—" Lucius attempted to say through clenched teeth. The pain of the continuing curse was too much to respond. His head hung forward. Over the years of his service he had found the pain always focused at the base of his skull. He supposed it was a side effect of repeated exposure and a built up tolerance.

"I should be recruiting these children if they are so capable. Hmm? Perhaps your son would be able succeed where you have not." Voldemort released the curse. The only sign was Lucius' quiet gasp of relief. "What do you think? You've managed to keep him from me for some time. But I do think that, if these children are talented enough to stop _you_, surely your son must be equal to that. I do think I require that ability."

Lucius kept his head down while his master spoke. He could do nothing for Draco dead.

"Bring him."

Recognizing the dismissal, Lucius pulled himself up and bowed stiffly, "It will be done my lord."

The door shut gently behind him. So it had finally come to this.

He hadn't been the best father. No, he knew this. But he had balanced doing what he could with what he must. Despite what many thought, family was important to the Malfoy's.

He was raised, as his father was before him and his father before him, to take when it was offered as well as when it wasn't. The Malfoy's influence and power had come from this attitude. But it was also tradition that one never took from family. It was what solidified and legitimized Malfoy power.

Many families' found themselves victim to infighting. It was something the Malfoy's did not do and had never done.

Draco had been spoiled more than previous heirs. Certainly more than he had been.

If he had raised Draco as he was, he would have quickly been brought into the Dark Lord's fold, thus ending any true power the Malfoy's held with their family. Keeping Draco separate had allowed the Malfoy name to remain safe.

And now what he had hoped would never happen was beginning to unfold around him and Draco less prepared than he could have been. He was a weak heir.

The boy, as much as he cared for him possessed little cunning. He took without thinking. And worse, he wielded the Malfoy power with as much subtlety as a charging bull. Lucius's father would never have allowed him to guy his way onto the quiditch team. But when Draco had asked… well, he had given in. He had hoped that this might protect him.

And yet even now he wasn't sure. Perhaps Draco would have been forced down the same path no matter how he had been raised. Lucius exited the fireplace into his study. Did he regret how he had raised his son? He wouldn't decide that till later. Hindsight, after all, is twenty-twenty.

Lucius walked through the halls of his family home feeling the stares of his ancestors glaring down at him as if they already knew his failure.

He knocked on the door to Draco's room.

"Enter," the voice called from behind the door.

He opened it, "Father?" It was rare for him to visit his son in this manner, a result of his attempts at protection. He looked into the room at his only son. Draco sat before him reading a book in an armchair. His legs crossed and his eyes looking cockily over the top of the book.

"You have been called Draco. Tomorrow you will receive his orders."

"And the mark?" Lucius noticed that there was neither hope nor dread in Draco's voice. Perhaps he would do better than he thought.

"I will go with you. Be ready," He shut the door and walked back toward his study pondering what would become of his family.

Hermione was packing up her belongings quietly. Her mother and father were rummaging through the house picking out personal items and some essentials.

She hadn't realized how difficult this would be.

Each book she packed away into her trunk felt like she was packing away a part of herself. To be honest, she'd been mentally packing away all these things for a while now, but it didn't make it any easier.

It had been a month since school ended. She had not heard word from anyone. It hurt that both Ron and Harry would ignore her like that. She had no way of contacting any of them without an owl. They knew that. And yet neither of them had written her.

She knew there was probably a good reason for it. Harry was always difficult to reach, either because of Dumbledore's rules or because of his Aunt and Uncle. But Ron usually wrote her within the first week. Even Ginny had mailed her a couple times. It was probably just for some security reason. This is how Harry felt last summer. She had to admit it was not fun.

They probably would want to come pick her up sometime soon for the last couple weeks of summer. Of course, she wouldn't be here any longer.

Which brought her back to her current task of packing.

Just a couple more books and she'd be done. Hopefully her parents were almost finished and they could take their international portkey to Canada. They had considered Australia but it had too many ties to wizarding Britain.

She knew there wasn't much she could do if Voldemort wanted to track her down. But she hoped… She seemed to be doing a lot of that recently.

She closed her trunk and looked around her room making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. There was nothing. She walked across the room to her desk and looked down at the final note she had written, explaining what she was doing and why.

Rereading it still felt like she was running away. She knew that was how Ron would see it but she hoped Harry would understand. He had lost so much already; surely he would understand her need to protect her family. No. She knew he would.

She didn't even think it would take an explanation for him. He understood sacrifice to a fault. He was already prepared to sacrifice their friendship to protect them. He had been so distant the last weeks of school. She had thought he was sad at first, who wouldn't be. But watching him he didn't seem it. He disappeared for hours at a time. Feeding them excuses about being in the kitchen or just wandering. But he always left and returned holding the same book.

At the time she hadn't thought anything about it. Too wrapped up in her own issues, she thought guiltily. The last month she had relived those days over and over.

Ron was another matter. He wouldn't understand. He would expect that she would stand and fight. He would say that she place her trust in Dumbledore in keeping her family safe. And not even four months earlier she would have.

But that trust had dwindled as she analyzed how best to protect her family. It was that she distrusted him per se. But she had realized that he wasn't infallible. _Magic_ wasn't even all-powerful she had realized.

For every great protection there was a counter. The Fidelius charm, meant to protect Harry's parents, failed. Even the killing curse, excluding Harry's unique experience, could be blocked. Dodge it or conjure something in front of it.

It wasn't only Dumbledore. Witnessing the Ministry of Magic—the most inept, backwards, and bureaucratic mess of a government—slowly beat Dumbledore out of his own school.

No, she had realized she couldn't just trust that her parents would be safe in the hands of others. Not that her hands were much better. But, well lets face it, she felt she was just as capable, if not more so because of the choice she was willing to make.

It was one that she didn't think any of them would even consider. Wizards very rarely left the wizarding world. And not just the wizarding world but also their respective countries.

She had thought it odd that the alleged 'best school,' Hogwarts, had no students from other countries. International students were relatively common at prestigious schools in the muggle world. So why not the wizarding?

It had not been an easy project. She literally couldn't find it referenced anywhere. It was a bit embarrassing at the time. Her curiosity and frustration had reached its peak and she finally just asked Terry Boot.

He had been quite surprised at her question but had answered it as thoroughly as he could.

"Hermione are you coming?" she heard Ron ask.

"What? Oh, no. I'm going to the library; I need to double-check a couple figures in my potion essay. I'll meet you down there."

"Again?" Ron asked in exasperation, "you've been double-checking stuff in that stupid paper for weeks. It's gotta be perfect."

"Just a couple things. I'll be down soon."

"Fine, fine. Where'd Harry go— damn okay see ya."

She watched him run out of the room to catch up with Harry. Terry would probably be in the library. If not, some other Ravenclaw she knew would be there. But she preferred to ask him.

The Ravenclaws may be studious but that didn't mean they didn't share in Hogwarts love of gossip. Ravenclaw just had their own brand.

While most the school was content to discuss couples and who was snogging whom, the Ravenclaws gossiped about test scores and who was getting extra credit where. It wasn't just in Ravenclaw of course. It encompassed anyone who was focused on their academics, which spanned all houses.

It would be all over Hogwarts that she had to ask someone a question. And in keeping with Hogwarts gossip tradition it would be exaggerated to the extreme.

This was all assuming she didn't ask Terry. She could always wait till later but her question had been eating her up. She could hardly sleep, which was ridiculous given how trivial it was. But as she had researched further and further it felt more and more like there was some hidden reason.

She walked into the library briskly and smiled at Madame Pince. She looked around and saw Terry sitting in a corner by himself studying, thank merlin.

Herimone made her way over to his desk. She sat down across from him and waited for him to finish writing. It was only polite of course. Terry finished and looked up with a smile.

"Hello Hermione, what can I do for you?"

She smiled slightly, "I have a, uh, question?"

He blinked at her. "A question? The raven in lion's skin has a question for little old me?"

"Look, I just—"

"It's fine it's fine, only joking. Ask away."

She always liked Terry. He was one of the few outside of Gryffindor who was openly friendly with her.

"Well," she pushed her bushy hair back and began explaining, "I was wondering why Hogwarts has no students from other countries if it's so great? Not even that really. Why don't we ever see anyone from other countries. The muggle world is full of people who come from somewhere else. But I can count the number of foreign wizards I've seen on one hand," she continued rambling a bit as she got more and more embarrassed by such a simple question.

Terry's face became more and more serious as she talked.

"So why aren't there any, is all I guess?" she finally finished. "What is it? Did I say something wrong?"

Terry stayed quiet for a second longer while Hermione's stomach started to do flips in anticipation and in worry that maybe she broke some sort of taboo.

"No not really, it's just you might be the first muggleborn I've ever heard of who asked that question."

"That's ridiculous, it's such an obvious observation—"

"No, no, you're right it is. But only obvious for some," Terry paused, "I want you to wait till I finish my explanation before you say anything. Okay?"

She nodded shortly.

"There is a difference between muggleborns, halfbloods and purebloods. And I don't mean in terms of their parents."

"I never thought—" she began indignantly.

Terry glared at her, "I don't mean like that. I don't have anything against muggleborns. Don't interrupt again."

"Fine," she said with a glare, "But this—"

He cut her off, "Purebloods," he said loudly, "as you know, are born from two wizards. Halfbloods from a wizard and a muggle, and muggleborn, well you know. It's all in genetics. Muggles have only very small amounts magic in their blood, which is why they are unable to do magic. They, of course, can give birth to a child who has more amounts of magic and thus we have a witch or wizard." Hermione nodded in response.

"Right, so the difference is this, and bear in mind it's an oversimplification. Muggleborns, because they don't usually have a history of having magic in the family, are less in touch with their magic. Muggle families that produce more wizards have more magic in their blood than those who have produced fewer. It's not a matter of power so much as awareness. Purebloods who come from a string of wizards aren't necessarily more magically powerful but are more cognizant of their magic. Does that make sense?"

"Only purebloods can feel it?"

"Well, no not as such. Nothing is ever so cut and dry. There are always exceptions. And you don't start feeling it till you enter puberty, or your magical majority," he said. She could tell he was feeling a little uncomfortable explaining that he had something special that she might not purely because of blood.

"I can feel it too. I thought all wizards felt like this…"

"Well, purebloods at least, some more so than others. You're awareness of it is usually a sign of power to some extent, again not always the case but there it is. You're much more of an anomaly, most muggleborns never even learn about it."

They fell into silence each considering what had been discussed.

"This still doesn't answer my question," Hermione finally said.

"Oh right, well all wizards are tied to something to certain extent. Having a familiar is similar. Though only very powerful people are able to create that sort of bond. Most wizards form bonds with powerful wizards or to where they were born. And here's your answer. Many wizards don't leave because they are often tied to locations or wizards by their bond. Of course they can leave but it takes a concerted effort to break that sort of connection. Purebloods, and exceptions like yourself, are more conscious of these bonds because we're more aware of our magic. For those who are not aware or who have a weak connection to their magic it is difficult if not impossible to break a bond or be aware of it."

"That's awful. That means there are people who don't have the freewill to do what they want. Their free will is limited."

"It's the way it is Hermione. Their free will isn't limited as it is different. It's a part of nature. No one chose for it to be like this. It's just how magic works," he shrugged. "And it's not like they can't be free. They just aren't aware that their not. Count yourself lucky that you are one of the few muggleborns who realizes and move on."

She had been horrified after that conversation. It was awful. Muggleborns were brought into the world of magic reveling at the thought, never knowing they would grow up to be slaves to it. It was just awful. She still hadn't gotten over it. She could feel, as she got closer to leaving, that she was pulling away at a bond of some kind. Terry had explained to her that she would know if she had an actual bond and she would get to choose to a certain extent but her magic latently bonded with what was around it.

It was all incredibly complicated, as Terry kept telling her. For everything he told her there was an exception. Or it didn't quite work like that with everyone.

But she tried to take Terry's advice to heart. This wasn't like SPEW she couldn't start a campaign to free muggleborns from their magic even if they knew about it there wasn't much they could do about it. She tried to just ignore it and feel lucky. Of course he had also told her the magic bonding house elves to their owners was a similar idea so SPEW was out too. It was all something to consider at a later date when she didn't have to worry about her family surviving.

She sighed. It was all so complicated. Everything was so complicated. And now she was leaving. She placed the letter back on the desk.

This was it. Not much longer now.

A large crash sounded down the hall followed by a yell. Hermione pulled her wand just in case and ran out to see what had happened. She turned the corner to see her mother lying against a wall with her neck at an odd angle. The front door had been blown in and slammed into her. Her father lay a few feet away. The contents of a suitcase strewn around them.

She stood and looked at them both in shock. A man, no, a boy, a little taller than she was stepped through the doorway with his wand stretched forward. His blonde hair slicked back neatly. His eyes also fixed on the two bodies.

Her eyes slowly moved from her parents to the stranger. She looked at him. She knew him on sight but it was too much at once. She could only stare.

Draco's eyes were wide and his skin paler than normal. He looked away from the bodies sharply and saw Hermione. "Hello Granger."

"Stupefy!" she said in a deadly whisper. She could feel her magic within her, as she'd never felt before.

Draco stepped out of the way, "Reducto," he responded. She stepped backward into the hall. The spell hit the wall. A chunk of wall blew apart narrowly missing Hermione as she stepped back into the doorway to fire another spell.

"Sectumsempra,"

"Protego, aguamenti,"

"Serpensortia, serpensortia," two large snakes flew to the ground. The started slithering toward her while Malfoy cast another reducto.

She banished both snakes and stepped back avoiding the reducto, which blasted another hole in the wall. She could hear Malfoy step forward slowly, his foot splashing in the water she had conjured at him. The whole exchange lasted only seconds. The silence was thick.

"Granger, who would have guessed you could fight back. Though, I would have thought you would have a guard of some kind."

She didn't respond. Her thoughts only on how she would kill him.

"Too scared to talk. Are you crying? Already miss mummy and daddy? It's not all bad though, you and Potter have more in common now." He took another step forward. A piece of wall fell to the ground from one of the gaping holes. The sound of it hitting the ground was accompanied by a groan from her father.

Hermione acted instantly. She whipped around the corner and shouted "AVIS!" pushing all the power into it she could. The birds shot out and flew at Malfoy like bullets. He screamed as they tore at his face.

She raced over to her father continuing to cast spells at Malfoy. A reducto hit the floor in front of him and threw him backward. He fell to the ground still screaming as the birds continued their assault.

"Dad! DAD!? Can you hear me?" She shook him trying to get him to respond. Malfoy was still dealing with the birds but he would overwhelm them any second.

"Hermione," he croaked out coughing, "what—"

"There's no time can you move?" she said in a rush keeping an eye on Malfoy. Not much time left.

"I think—"

"Get to my room," she reached out her hand to help him up. He got up and started hobbling to the doorway.

"Expelliarmus," Malfoy yelled, fury in his voice. The spell hit her and threw her against the wall. The wall was only a foot away but it still knocked the wind out of her. She somehow managed to keep hold of her wand.

"Run," she chocked out to her father, "Reducto, reducto, reducto," she breathed out in quick succession trying to get her breath back. Malfoy blocked one, dodged the second only to step right into the third. Realizing his mistake he stumbled back saying, "protego," at the same time. The partially cast shield could only partially block the spell. The remaining force from reducto dispersed along the left side of body shattering his arm and injuring his leg.

He screamed in pain and fell backward dropping his wand. Hermione's father looked back from the doorway to see what happened. Hermione limped toward Malfoy.

"Hermi—"

"Go, I'll be there in a second," her voice was hard. She didn't sound like herself but she didn't notice. Her thoughts only on Malfoy.

Hermione kept her eyes on Malfoy. Not daring to look away and not willing to look at where her mother's body lay. She looked at Malfoy lying crippled before her. Bits of bone could be seen sticking out the back of his arm. This wasn't like the movies she realized. She had nothing to say to him.

He lay before her. The blood dripping to the floor. There was no music or sound in the background. Just silence, him and her and her wand. It was trained on him. She thought of her mother. It would be so simple. A reducto would end it all in a second.

Never had she thought she would be in this position, considering what she was considering. His body shook. He raised his eyes to look up at her. She waited for a snarky one liner. But he just stared back. They weren't kids anymore she realized.

He looked down and past her to where her mother's body was. His eyes were wide, unknowingly mirroring the look on her own face as she looked down at him. Silence.

It felt like minutes had past. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her wand lowered. Malfoy began to open his mouth but was stopped as her foot connected with his face.

He looked up to see her turn the corner where her dad had been a minute earlier. His face already swelling from the kick. Shortly after he heard her say, "grab this," and then silence.

He looked around the room from the ground. His wand was only a few feet away. He reached and felt the fingers of his good hand curl around it.

Quickly, he cast a numbing charm on the left side of his body easing the pain slightly. He sighed in relief. He couldn't believe he had failed quite so miserably. His first task, personally given to him by the Dark Lord himself and here he was. Lying in a puddle of water and blood defeated by that know-it-all mudblood.

But now was not the time. "Jugis incendio," he cast aiming at the furthest point in the house he could see. The magical flames burned hot and fast. Nothing could be reconstructed from the ashes. It would hide any evidence of what happened.

The blue flames were already licking the ceiling and spreading. He closed his eyes and blocked out the roaring sound as it consumed both the house and the oxygen in the room. He concentrated on his numb limbs making sure nothing would be left behind, and with a loud crack, disaparated.

"Harry you cannot blame yourself for Ginny's death. Again I must ask that you realize who is truly to blame in this situation. There was nothing you could do for her."

"Fine," Dumbledore looked down at him with pity.

They sat in silence. This how most of their discussions went. It just needs one more…

"How are you feeling?"

Ah there it is. "Fine."

He didn't understand why they didn't just let him leave. There was nothing wrong with him. Even Pomphrey had given him a clean bill of health.

Harry had told them what had happened. Everything he could remember at least. He was sure he was missing some details but all the important stuff was in there.

"I want to talk about this coming school year."

Harry stayed quiet.

"In light of what happened I feel it's time I started taking a more active role in your education. Perhaps I should have done so sooner," Harry snorted at this.

"You think so? You think maybe you should have been training the kid who you knew was going to be fighting the Dark Lord."

"I have made many mistakes regarding your life Harry. There is nothing I can do but apologize."

Harry looked away from him. He knew there was nothing that could be done at this point. But it didn't make it suck any less.

"You will have sessions with myself, Alistor as well as with Professor Snape. They will replace Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. You can continue playing quidditch if you wish. I'm sure McGonagall will inform you soon that your lifetime ban as been withdrawn."

Harry looked at him.

"Why am I still not allowed to leave this room?"

"Harry you must trust me in this. We still are not sure what lingering effects there are from your encounter with Voldemort. It's not safe for you to leave yet."

That it was still too much of a risk to let him leave yet was left unsaid though they both understood it.

"I must leave now Harry we will speak more of your training tomorrow."


End file.
